13/04/2025
“A tree that bears fruit bows low; so too should the generous man.”
The Kindness of a Candle
Once in the ancient city of Shiraz, there lived a wealthy merchant who prided himself not only on his riches but also on his generosity—though it was only shown to those of stature. He gave gold to scholars, perfumed oils to rulers, and gifts to poets who praised his name. But to the poor, he gave little more than a glance.
One winter evening, as the wind howled through the streets like a beggar at a closed door, a ragged dervish came to the merchant’s gate. He was old, with a back bent from the weight of years and eyes that had seen the world’s harshness. He asked for nothing but a place to warm himself by the fire.
The merchant, wrapped in his silks and pride, scoffed, “I do not let dust sit in my home, let alone a beggar.” He ordered the servant to shut the door.
As fate would have it, that night the merchant’s youngest child fell ill. The physicians were summoned, but the child’s condition worsened. In his despair, the merchant vowed, "I would give all I own to save my son."
A soft knock came at the door. It was the same dervish, but this time he was brought in by a kind-hearted servant who had remembered his sorrowful eyes.
The dervish, upon seeing the child, whispered a prayer and placed a small candle beside the boy. "Kindness," he said, "is a fire that does not burn—it warms. May it heal as it lights."
By dawn, the child’s fever had broken.
The merchant, humbled and weeping, fell at the feet of the dervish. “You have saved my son. Ask anything of me.”
The dervish smiled gently. “I ask only this: next time kindness knocks, open the door.”
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